


Not enough

by TariTheNurse



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But first smut, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Smut, dash of fluff, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: It's hard not to take advantage of someone's pumped up libido...even if it's due to drugs.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 196





	Not enough

Recon missions are a drag. Most of the time it’s just a matter of verifying some intel Tony and Natasha have gathered with their magical hacking skills, or it’s a painful task of finding someone who’s left no digital fingerprint which generally means they know how to stay hidden both on and off camera.

This time it’s the latter.

Obviously, you want to catch the people behind the trade of fusion weapons on the black market…you’re just not sure that wading through the sewers beneath the industrial outskirts of Moscow was strictly necessary because the Kremlin’s bound to hold much more information than a chance meeting at some factory.

But then again…the pessimism in control of your thoughts might just be due to the stench of rot and other unpleasantries oozing from your boots.

You’re almost happy when Steve pulls up in front of the tiny house the Avengers has rented. Leaping out of the car, you barely pause to get the gross footwear off before dumping the rest of the contents of the bottle by the door over your feet. As you stalk through the house, the car door slams outside, signaling that the Captain is getting his ass in gear. _At least I get to shower first._

It’s just the two of you, something you’d actually looked forward to in the hopes that you’d get to get closer to the man. Very little can distract Steve Rogers from his mission in life, but you refuse to believe there’s no more to him. The man’s smart, kind, and sure his background is messy to say the least but whose isn’t? So you took off to Russia with him and an extra mission of your own.

So far, you’ve failed horribly.

Steve’s seriousness has morphed into a sullen hostility and you have no clue why. At least there’s a mattress on the floor in the spare room which you’ve gladly accepted as your after the awkward flight, and though the house might be frigid, it’s nothing compared to the few scowls the man sends you when you dare get too close to you during morning or bedtime routines. _Well fuck him._ Apparently, heroes aren’t all they’re made up to be.

Grabbing the still damp towel and a set of clean clothes from you room, you scurry off for a much needed shower. It takes a moment for the boiler to catch the idea of hot water, but eventually the scalding water washes away the last stench and your irritation. In fact, you’ve managed to think yourself far away even as you begin to dry yourself, stepping out of the too-ugly-to-be-kitsch bathtub with a soft tune on your tongue. Dude, it feels great to rub the coarse towel over your scalp without a care about how much of a mess your hair will be – right now you just feel the tension dissipate under the fingertips and a draught bring in fresh air to chase away the humidity.

_Wait._

There shouldn’t be any air coming in.

Instinctively, you let the towel fall as you reach for the gun tugged away under the stack of clean clothes. Jeans and whatnot are strewn as you continue the movement, bringing the weapon in front of you to point at the head of the intruder. The aim is true for a second – then you falter at the sight of who it is.

“Steve!? Goddamn it, man!”

There’s no reason to fight the Captain as he engulfs your gun and hand in his, calmly bringing it down and to the side where no one can get hurt.

“Steve?”

He doesn’t answer. The bright blue of his eyes is reduced to a sliver that roams along your body causing you to become hyper aware of your nakedness but reaching for the towel on the floor merely results in Steve grabbing that wrist too. It hurts a bit as he twists the grip, forcing you to let go of the gun which clatters into the sink.

“What’re you doin’?” This isn’t the Steve you know, not the kind guy with a heart of gold and who blushes at the mention of fondue. “You’re hurting me.”

The old Steve is there for a split second, surprised at your words or maybe his own actions, but it’s gone just as quickly. You don’t have time to prepare, registering all too late the shift that allows him to grab both of your wrists in one hand above your head as he pushes you against the nearest wall. The tiles are shockingly cold against your backside and you can’t help but arch to avoid it even if it means pressing yourself against the taught figure looming over you.

“Fucking perfect,” a guttural sound escapes Steve, “better than imagined.”

_What? You’ve what now?_ But the questions racing through your head never make it off your tongue. Feverishly, greedily, Steve’s lips crash onto yours. It’s rough, and it’s dominant, and it’s exactly what you’ve wanted for as long as you’ve known the guy. Reduced to a whimpering mess, you reciprocate.

But your logic comes flooding back the moment you feel Steve’s hand upon your waist, pulling you roughly toward him as he forces a knee between your thighs until the only purchase available is by wrapping your legs around his hips. _This is wrong._ At least you manage to break the kiss, stumped at the growl it triggers before he’s got your jaw in a vice-like grip that forces your face back to his. _This isn’t right._ Pupils blown out of proportions; brows furrowed to darken his eyes more. He is so close your noses almost touch and you inhale his breath, laced with spicy liquor and something akin to medicine. _Drugs? _

“This isn’t you, Steve, there mu–“ His hand shifts to your throat, fingers and palm pressing hard enough to cut off your plea while still allowing you a minimum of breath.

_The bottle._ You hadn’t left the water by the door, and there’s no way the meticulous Captain America would have, so someone else must have been here. Inside too? If so, then they could have gotten their hands on anything, booby-trapped the place or even…even laced the food and drinks with poisons or some shit.

“Shut. Up.” No more than a whisper, the words still carry clearly in the small room. “For so long…been watching…wanting…” A nudge by his thigh sends your body sliding upwards over the condense-covered tiles. “You’ve longed for it too, don’t deny it.”

It’s true. Even now, not knowing exactly what to expect of the man, you can’t help but react to the rough physicality and want to feel his muscles under your hands. Heat radiating from your core is mixing with the cold of the wall to the point where you don’t know which is causing the goosebumps to spread like wildfire across your skin. _Yes, I want you._ It’s wrong. Wrong to want this, and wrong to want to make use of whatever shit is influencing Steve.

“Y’do-on’t reall’ mean ‘at,” you manage to choke out, surprised as he relents the pressure a bit for you to continue, “wha’ever’s influencin’ you…making you think –“

“I fucking mean it!” Gone is his patience. “Just didn’t…I couldn’t…_fuck!_ Can’t wait ‘ny longer!”

Big and calloused, the hand he’s held your wrists with roams your body, cupping your breasts one by one to play roughly with your already pert nipples until you gasp against his hold at the sharp sting. His mouth is anywhere it can reach, teeth tugging at skin while his tongue seems to try to soothe what surely will become bruises, but you don’t mind, pulling at his t-shirt or tangling your fingers in hair to guide him on.

It’s impossible to help the craving soaring through you, making you rock against the sweatpants he at least has changed into. The soft material soaks up the first signs of dampness that isn’t from the shower, and you see his nostrils flare to take in the scent of your arousal like he’s some animal. _He might as well be_. Right now it doesn’t matter because a strong thumb has found your clit, pressing deliciously until a jolt and a twist of Steve’s hand has you riding his fingers so he can spread your wetness with rough, calculated movements.

“So needy for me,” he grunts into a kiss.

You are. What little friction is left now that your juices are spread all over your cunt and his hand isn’t enough to keep you satisfied even if it’s bringing you closer to bursting.

“Mo-ore!” You frantically palm his cock through the pants, hoping to bring your point across somehow. “Need…more…”

Any other day, you would love to wipe a smug smirk like that off a guy’s face. Not today. Neither do you protest when he detangles himself from between your legs, unceremoniously dumping you on your toes where you have to fight to keep upright unless you want to have your air supply cut completely. Panic ripples through you as you struggle, only partially aware that Steve’s tugging at the waistband of the sweats.

Lightheaded, heart pounding in your ears, your body changes tactics to conserve oxygen by going lax and allowing the Captain to bend you over the sink. Cold porcelain digs into your hips, holding you in place. The fogged mirror presses against your forehead. _Need air!_

As if answering the unspoken prayer, Steve lets go of your throat in favour of holding your hips steady and sheath himself in your cunt with one hard thrust, making you cry out in surprise and untamed lust. Again and again – without giving you a chance to adjust to the intrusion and size of him first. Each time he pulls out you manage to get a lungful of air which he then promptly pushes out of you by ramming so deep it can be felt in your stomach.

“Fuck-ing…tight…”

_No shit._ Every muscle in your body is overworking themselves. Back flexing. Hips and ass grinding against each thrust to ensure the slap of his sac against the clit, sending jolts through your womb into the spine from where the signals are rerouted to your legs. _Ah! _You feel the knees buckle, thankful for the support the sink gives and Steve’s bruising grip, and holy fuck you can’t hold back the loud moans covering parts of the mirror with fog until you can’t see the reflection of the scene.

“Wanna…wa-nna see…” you plead on a broken cry, “needa-a-aaah!”

Steve’s has angled you as you spoke, an arm under your left knee, his and your right hands scrambling for purchase on the sink. Not just does he still hit the g-spot, the new position sets your body in hyperdrive as it’s flushed by the change of sensation. The coil inside you is wound tighter than you’ve ever tried, waiting for the Captain’s command to release. _Please._ You’re so close.

“Touch yourself,” he grunts before dipping is face to your shoulder, planting his teeth in the skin and then trailing licks and love bites towards your breast bouncing just within reach, “do it.”

Not daring to relinquish the support you move slowly, your own fingers dancing against the root of his cock until –

“Fu-_uck_!”

There it is (covered in the silken wetness beneath soft curls), hard and flamingly sensitive to the shaky strokes of your fingers. The coil winds impossibly tighter for each stroke, each thrust, each suckling bite and soothing lick to your nipple.

And then you find yourself on the very edge, a hairbreadth away from tipping over into oblivion, pausing to meet Steve’s eyes. The black of his pupils has all but swallowed any hint of colour beneath the heavy lids. Face flushed. Lips puffy. Hot breath fanning your shoulder.

“Do it…” he smirks, “cum…for me.”

A few hard circles around the clit and then you topple over, body seizing and shuddering as euphoria explodes throughout your being, walls clenching Steve’s rigid cock at first and then suddenly nothing at all. The absence leaves you hollow. Despite the vague sense of strong arms carrying you, the whimpers still escape as you beg for your Captain to fill you up again.

The voice is still hoarse and deep when it whispers in your ear: “You want more, huh?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just drops you on a bed and hauls your ankles onto his shoulders. You try to form some semblance of a sentence as you descend from the high, lungs dragging in air repeatedly with no more than needy moans to show for it. Moans that turn guttural as Steve’s shaft glides between the tender folds and over you sensitive clit. Groans pitching into little squeals each time fingers find and tweak your nipples or teeth latch on to your neck because it keeps you dancing on the border to ecstasy.

“Pl-please!”

This time he moves slowly, allowing you to feel each sinful stretch as your cunt is filled beyond the wildest dream.

“Look at me, [Y/N].”

_How can I deny you?_ You need to blink to clear your vision, bringing a sight of wonders into view through the blur. Flushed with beads of sweat, Steve’s gaze is locked on you. Perfect teeth dig into his cushioned lower lip as he pulls back and it causes a new wave of lust to pool and the walls in your cunt to contract around him.

The slow pace is abandoned soon. You find purchase by holding on to Steve anywhere possible, often changing because the hands slip on the sweaty skin under which his muscles are rippling and flexing with every rut that drills you further up the mattress and his cock deeper into you.

His eyes never waver from yours.

Not as you reach a new high, writhing beneath him and his names falling from your lips on increasingly loud cries until…

“[Y/N]…fuck…_love_ you!”

Your heart stutters together with Steve’s thrusts.

…

Captain America has fallen asleep quickly. Sated, just like you, he’d rolled off and on to his side, dragging you into his arms and burying the nose in your hair where he promptly began to snore.

Now you’re lying there with the streetlights sweeping onto the ceiling and a million thoughts milling in your head. Regrets? Not on your behalf. Confusion? Oh, yes! With your back pressed against Steve’s chest, it’s as though a certain peace is seeping in through the skin and you have to shake yourself free mentally before you find the willpower to begin turning in his arms. You’ve made it onto your back when the activity stirs Steve.

“Mmm…hey…”

The voice has nearly transitioned into a bass that curls around warm and gently to tug at your heart. For a moment he lingers in the calm. Then you see the brows furrow, concern flooding his features as memories return, cold and insisting like a winter’s wind.

The pain of realization is audible: “[Y/N]…”

“Whatever you drank from…we’ll send to it to analysis.” You can’t look at him - seeing his regret would hurt too much.

A strong hand cups your jaw ever so tenderly, softly turning your face towards Steve’s so you can’t avoid meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry if…if I hurt you or…did something you didn’t want to. I _am_.” The tip of a tongue is visible as it darts out to wet his lips, stirring the ghost of what else that tongue has done. “But I knew what I was saying and ev–“ Steve sighs, “[Y/N], I really have dreamed of being with you. And not just sex but _more_…if I’ve ruined that now then I compl–“

A kiss is all it takes to shut him up. A kiss that starts hard and clumsily, melting into something soft that could last forever.


End file.
